


the sun and her flowers

by delibell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dead Poets Society - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangles, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Poetry, Romance, Sirius is my bae, Unrequited Love, gonna break remus's heart, literaly the movie, reader - Freeform, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delibell/pseuds/delibell
Summary: (name) (lastname) is the leader of a sneaky little poetry club by the name of 'dead poets society'. remus brings in his best friend, sirius black, to one of their meetings. what sirius was supposed to do is help remus get (name)...not fall in love with her instead.[loosely based on DPS movie]





	1. eye of the storm.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Sirius, please, just…do this for me?”

“I’d love to, really, I would, but see I got this thing called Quidditch practice after those god forsaken classes are over, and I’m really no trying to fill my schedule by joining a sad group of misfits. You’re on your own, Remus.”

Spring. Long forgotten sunshine reflects from open castle windows and illuminates the sky with a new freshness, happiness even. Flowers start budding, finally awake from slumber, dyeing the plain grass fields in their various pretty colours. The temperature rises, but there still lingers a certain chill coming from the water. Students pile into courtyards, wander around the grounds, enjoy the weather until it’s inevitably ruined by rain again. Britain. Britain never changes. But alas, with a quickening step Remus Lupin follows after his best friend with an air of frustration, even if he doesn’t wish to voice it. Sirius had always been dismissive of his advances to get him to join…Well, now that he thinks of it, Sirius isn’t the type to sit around and listen to poetry in some hidden away corner of the castle. If it doesn’t involve mischief or pretty girls, Sirius generally isn’t interested…

On the other hand, there are a few pretty girls…Well, namely _one_ pretty girl. Which Remus wants to impress. But he is hardly as head-strong or charming as his best mate, and wooing her alone would be futile. He needs help. At the very least moral support. Peter is no good with romance. James can hardly utter a coherent sentence to Lily. This leaves the one and only Sirius Black, which Remus knows is really no better than the rest of them, but does he really have a choice?

“I’ll pay you.” Remus pleads as a last resort. Sirius only laughs, glancing at him before his dark eyes trail back to the faraway Quidditch Pitch.

“Hell, Remus, never took you for the desperate type.  Why not just ask Peter? I’m sure he’ll be happy to tag along.” Sirius offers. Remus shakes his head. This is no use. He will have to think of something else. As he looks up he is met with a cloudless sky. Its vastness is dizzying. It occurs to him that he gets a similar feeling when he peers into her eyes.

Remus clears his throat, “Well…” He scratches the back of his head, “The meetings take place during the night, and—“ He has to hold in a smile when Sirius turns to him curiously, “It’s all girls, mostly. I thought that, since you’re my friend, you’d tag along. Even out the—“

“I’m in.”

\--

The sky behind the window is inky black and irritated by stars like glass shards which are, in great care, stuck to it. Sirius sees the far away horizon, the eerie tree tops of the Forbidden Forrest swaying in the wind…And his own reflection, illuminated by a pale light coming from his wand. Remus stands nervously behind him, checking a book of some sort before he nudges his shoulder and orders to move down these cold empty corridors.

Whispers greet them as they pass. Their footsteps dull on the carpeting, cloaks swish like ghosts by their sides and portraits continue to mumble in their sleep. Before sneaking out the Common Room, Remus had informed him that the meeting place changes every time in case the teachers or those who want to have a laugh crash the party. Sirius asked why on earth aren’t they meeting in daylight. “Not like you have anything better to do” he then added. What surprised him is Remus’s response, the strange glint in his eyes, the smile that was both soft and weirdly passionate “You will find out”. While the answer did sound a bit ominous, it was more intriguing than anything.

It is easy to get confused whilst wandering these halls at night. Shadows cast a strange spell and everything appears different, and Sirius is sure that _yes_ , he _knows_ this place, and if only he could put a daytime filter on it he would recognise it right away. But now, in the dark, he is oblivious to his surroundings. Only when Remus tugs him to a lonely door by his left does he even realize it is there. And finally he feels his lungs fill with excitement. With a blooming grin on his face – an expression similar to childish mischief – he turns to the ever nervous Remus, who nods at him before shoving a piece of paper into his hand.

“Play nice.” Remus reminds him quietly before hooking his fingers into the handle and trying his best not to make a sound as he opens it.  The light goes out with a low ‘ _Nox’_. He isn’t sure what to expect when he enters the room, but as the door closes behind him the darkness melts into warm yellow lights that brighten up the interior just enough for him not to trip and fall over his two feet.

The classroom is small and packed. A scent of old books and daisy perfume lingers in the air along with a tint of dust. The crowd grows quiet when they notice him. He sees many familiar faces, many girls that at first question why he’s here and only later smile and bat their lashes in the pretty way they do. He moves away from them after wishing the group a lovely evening, to which they cheerily respond. A few boys linger by the windows, greet him sleepily, ask him what the girls are too polite to wonder aloud: Why are you here?

“Remus worked his charm on me.” Sirius grins, “Couldn’t resist him. Not sure anyone can.”

“Yea, well, you’re just in time, then.” One of the boys says, “We about to start.”

As they take their seats in a semi-circle, Sirius asks, “And what do you… _do_ here, exactly?” The one he questioned looks at him helplessly. Sirius shrugs, “I wasn’t informed…” He manages to catch the disapproving look Remus shoots him, “Or…maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

“We read poetry. Sometimes essays. Some are created by us, but most are from dead poets.”

He suddenly remembers the shrivelled note still tightly grasped in his hand. With a newfound curiosity he unfolds it in great care, failing to see a girl take the stage and the unyielding attention Remus sends her way. His eyes scan the parchment; curiosity is replaced by confusion quicker than James can catch the Snitch.

                   

  **[1]** _brIght_

_bRight s??? big_

_(soft)_

_soft near calm_

_(Bright)_

_calm st?? holy_

_(soft briGht deep)_

_yeS near sta? calm star big yEs_

_alone_

_(wHo_

_Yes_

_near deep whO big alone soft near_

_deep calm deep_

_????Ht ?????T)_

_Who(holy alone)holy(alone holy)alone_

“Remus, what the hell is this?” Sirius questions the boy sitting beside him, unable to take his eyes away from the mess of words on the paper, “Is this even…English?”

Failing to receive a response he looks up, sees the unmissable adoration in his friend’s eye and turns his attention to the spectacle right in front of him. The air is warm. The lights twinkle lazily in warm yellow. The wind rattles the glass every once in a while as if to remind him that this moment is real life. She stands with an old torn book in her hands, focused and ready to be listened to, ready to speak to them, to _him_ , in a way no girl has ever spoken to him before. He doesn’t know her, and the dull blue colours of her house make him realize why – she is a Ravenclaw, and he hasn’t had the best of luck with girls from her house. Most are too introverted, or just shy. But there is an air of confidence around her, slithering on her wrists and thighs like a spell casting its magic on everything she touches. _Passion_. Passion is another thing that stands out before she can even open the rosebuds of her lips. A passion for this small gathering he invaded with his, presumably unwanted, presence. It captivates him. It captivates everyone here.

The girl clears her throat, “ **[2]** _I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately_ ,” Her voice rings loud and clear in the silent room, “- _to front only the essential facts of life_ ,” Her eyes scan the faces of her listeners, “- _and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die_ ,” Her (colour) eyes stop on Sirius, “… _discover that I had not lived_.” She shuts the book harshly and it jolts everyone awake, “Welcome to the 12 th _Dead Poets Society_ meeting. Who wants first say?” A lovely smile pulls on the corner of her lips as warmly she regards a girl whose hand shoots up so fast she nearly smacks someone in the face. “The floor is yours, Mary.”

His fellow housemate takes the stage and this is when Remus answers him, “It’s a poem, Sirius. Even you can figure that out.”

“If this is a poem, then I am a poet.” He mumbles cynically. Remus grins.

“Just you wait. We may make one of you yet.”

Mary is soft spoken and she picked a poem so sweet and tender that Sirius had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. A cliché. This is why he dislikes poetry, this is why he doesn’t understand the cult behind it. Because of cotton candy like words, cringe inducing verses and the whole aura of seriousness surrounding something so _simple_. On cue, he glances at the paper in his hand. _Well_ , and absolutely mad.

Polite claps echo. Mary bows with a shy smile and blushed cheeks. She quickly takes her seat and he notices the same girl with the (color) eyes reassuring her. Absentminded he stares at her, tries to pick the details of her face, possibly match her with a name or a rumour he once heard. What surprises him is when a body passes his line of vision, leaving a seat next to him empty.

Remus Lupin grins at him before glancing down at the book he grasps loosely, but his smile twitches and Sirius, if he wasn’t so surprised, would gladly give him a thumbs up or at the very least a half-assed cheer of encouragement. Remus? The Remus Lupin taking stage? This phenomenon so great not even knucklehead James Potter will believe it. Remus clears his throat. His eyes shoot to the girl with the (colour) eyes before returning to the book, “ **[3]** _She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies;…”_

And it suddenly clicks in him. His eyes grow wide and excitement spurs like a firework. _This_! This is what it’s for! The dazed smiles, soft spoken words, shy blushes whenever James or he teased him about one girl or another, Peter being oddly secretive about why Remus spends his time in the library from noon to dinner… _Her_! It’s all for her, _it’s all about her_! And Sirius is here _because_ …Well, that part he fails to understand, but most likely for moral support. He grins to himself, already imagining spilling everything to James as they conjure a master plan to get these two together. Yes, Sirius vows to get Remus his dream girl by the end of the year…

A promise, unknown to him at the time, he would inevitably break.

When Remus sat back down Sirius wanted to pounce on him with questions and jokes and poke fun, but he couldn’t. The circle continued at a steady pace – no one asked Sirius to stand up and read, and he was grateful since he was unsure if he could decipher that scribble in his hand – and lastly it was _her_ turn again.

“ **[4]** _You tell me /_ ” A slight mock in her strong voice, eyes like jewels glistening in the light, “ _I am not like most girls. / And learn to kiss me with your eyes closed /_ “ Her face is composed but he notices it turn just a bit sour, “ _Something about the phrase – something about / how I have to be unlike the other women /_ “ A note of spitefulness, a tensed jaw and a silent promise that this poem – one she had learned and rehearsed – is intended for someone in this audience to hear, “ _I call sisters / makes me want to spit your tongue out /_ “ She hisses, “ _like I am supposed to be proud you picked me / as if I should be relieved you think / I am better than them_.”

There is a pause before cheers erupt. The kind of silence one finds in the eye of the storm.

And in that moment, in that silence that lays heavy on his shoulders, Sirius realizes just why Remus likes her so much.


	2. boat house

Sirius Black was oddly inspired after that evening. He and Remus went back to the common room with pep in their step and awed grins plastered all over their faces. Thoughts rushed like clear blue water. Fingers twitched to write those boiling feelings down on any piece of parchment. Remus kept glancing at his best friend as if to say, “ _Ha! Told you! I told you you’d love it!_ ” but Sirius didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an honest answer. So with no further endeavours or poetry sessions, the two best friends went to bed and slept restlessly the whole night.

* * *

 

Morning. Birds chirp outside the castle’s walls. The Great Hall slowly fills up with lazy students as they are already missing their winter cloaks – it’s warm, insanely warm for the start of spring – and with their sleeves rolled up. The Marauders form a small giggling circle by the Gryffindor table. Potter had just received the news of Remus’s crush and he laughs into his pudding before making kissy faces. Peter eagerly gazes from his one best friend to another, throwing in a comment or one in support of James. Remus continues to ignore them as he blushes into his tea. Sirius doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. None of his friends notice. All are having too much fun to even realise that Sirius isn’t.

There is too much on his mind, as it seems, as he gazes at each and every faces that enters the dining area with a sort of newfound fascination. He imagines a story with each person. He imagines that _she_ would imagine it, too. To his sudden surprise he sees her enter, wildly unexpected, with cheeks dyed in blotches of red and hair a light mess. _Did she run all the way here?_ His head lifts from his hand, a place it had been resting for quite some time now, and with lips parted to take in short breaths his eyes follow her all the way to the Ravenclaw table. She walks alone. She sits alone, too, and no one approaches her as her meal appears in front.

As fate has it, her (colour) eyes meet Sirius’s dark ones and a magical spark passes through him. The same feeling one has when a powerful spell is cast. The corners of his lips twitch upwards. Her face deepens in shades of red and she hurriedly looks down into her breakfast.

A playful nudge to his shoulder nearly knocks him over, “ _Oi_ , Sirius, that’s her, innit?” Potter inquires, sneakily fixing his glasses and leaning in to get a better look at the girl, “That’s Remus’s girlfriend?”

“ _Oh_ , shut it…” Remus mumbles, but also turns to catch a glance at her. Dorcas, a girl from Gryffindor, now is keeping her company.

“What’s her name, anyway?” Sirius inquires, trying not to sound all that interested.

Remus takes a sip of his drink and pauses for a moment as if contemplating whether to share this information or not. It is a rather useless thought. His friends would figure it out either way. “(Name).” He finally says, almost breathless, “It’s (Name). She’s in our year.”

Potter gives her a long detailed look before smirking and turning to Remus, “Does she really walk in beauty, though?”

Sirius is certain Remus wanted to smash that tea cup straight into Potter’s head. But he refrained. And so Sirius refrained from snorting. Though Potter did raise a fair question: does (Name) walk in beauty? His attention is once again drawn to the strange girl by the Ravenclaw table.

What a coincidence. It seems that she had been watching him, too.

* * *

 

“ _Remus_!”

Your voice is caught in your lungs when you catch up to him – lots of running around since morning – as your bag nearly slumps off your shoulder. Soft light peers through the castle windows. These tall cold walls appear much warmer. The said boy rapidly turns around and tries not to seem shocked. You regard him with a smile once you catch your breath, “… _Hi_.”

“Hi.” He replies sheepishly. Missing his usual group of friends, Remus seems a lot more approachable.

More at ease, you start, “Thank you. For coming yesterday…And for reading such a beautiful poem. It’s…one of my favourites actually.”

“ _Oh_?” He blinks, “I- _I_ …had no idea— _uhm_ ,” He grins brilliantly, “I hope I didn’t…ruin it for you or—“

“No.” You shake your head, “It was magical, really.” You reassure him, “This is what I came to talk to you about…Well, _sort of_. I wanted to invite you. The next meeting is next Wednesday at the Astronomy Tower.” You clear your throat, “And I was…wondering if you’d like to help me. Prepare. Search for some poems and essays…” You trail off, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to!” You add hurriedly, “Really, I just—“

“I’d love to.” Remus says with a small smile, “When can we meet?”

“Are you…free after classes? _Today_?”

“Yeah,” He says without a second thought, “see you—“

“-by the boat house.” You finish for him, “Trust me…You’ll understand when you see.”

 

* * *

 

You sit idly by the Boat House as the afternoon breeze caresses the back of your neck and plays with the strands of your hair. The tips of your shoes barely touch the clear sun reflecting water. Certain freshness hangs in the air. Overhead mountains with white snowy tops reach the sky. Faraway student chatter and the occasional chirp of birds reach your ears. Delighted, you flip an old page of an old book you had taken from the library this morning. A collection of unheard titles sit by your side on the docks, waiting to be examined with the upmost precision and care. Strange silver fish come to inspect your shoes – you see them dart under the docks once you notice them – and you smile. They always come to check up on you. Perhaps they regard you as a friend. The thought makes you unexplainably happy.

Remus shuts E.E. Cummings’ newest publication and ruffles his hair. His shoulders slump as he takes in the scenery.

“It’s peaceful.” He breaks the silence that had been lingering between the two of you for quite some time, “I get it.”

“You get it?”

“I get it.”

You also close the tomb you were only half reading, making a mental note of the page where you left off. You swing your feet over the water. Startled, the small fish flee. You don’t really notice. Remus closes one watering eye from the sun as he turns to look at you, “Did you find anything?” You shake your head. He nods, “ _I_ …might’ve—“

“Read it.”

“…You sure? Shouldn’t I save it—“

“One thing I learned is that there is never enough poetry.” You say, “It’s almost like an endless supply. Not enough time in the world to read all of it. It’s quite a shame, really. So many great things go unnoticed by us. What if they are the ones that answer everything? That answers our world’s greatest questions? _But_ …we can’t know this, of course we can’t. Why? Because we didn’t read them.” You smile, “So share it. Show me the world of your colours.”

A bit reluctant – perhaps he is still trying to process everything you said – he gingerly flips the pages of the book. He sends you a questioning glance. You nod softly. He clears his throat. “ **[1]** _The sky was candy_ ” He starts quietly, “ _luminous._ ” You look up, “ _Edible_.” A few lost clouds lay still on the slowly yellowing blue, “ _Spry pinks, shy lemons, greens, cool chocolates… under locomotive sprouting violets_.”

There is a long pause where the two of you merely enjoy the silence and the alluring song of spring breeze.

“ _You know_ …No matter how pretty a poem is, _or you think it is_ , it really all depends on the person who’s saying it.” You start, “The pronunciation. The _feeling_.” You look at Remus, “It’s almost like a poem is simply a spell. We’re the casters.” You smile, “I call it muggle magic. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I agree.”

“I’m glad.”

“You know, (Name), you’re really—“ He stops himself. Your smile falls into confusion. Under the sun you see him blush lightly, “You’re really… _different_.” He squeezes out, “But in a good way. In a _beautiful_ way. And I know you don’t fancy being excluded… _You made that pretty clear yesterday_ …” He releases a dry chuckle, “I just…” His gaze wanders down to the depths of the lake before returning to you, “I just can’t imagine anyone else being _so_ …incredibly different.”

You give him a shaky smile, “I, _well_ …thank you, Remus… _That’s_ …” You think for a moment, “See the thing with me is _I_ …used to be so _taken_ by magic. So in _awe_ by it. When I was younger I used to dream of a place like this, _of a life like this_ , but _now_ …I don’t know. Hasn’t all that pretty sparkle lost its charm? Don’t get me wrong, I _love_ magic and I would never trade it in for anything, _but_ … Magic has become quite _un-magical_ like to me…And as for poetry… I always manage to find a poem that stuns me into silence.” You add quietly. “That hasn’t happened with spells and jinxes in quite some time.” You give him a sad smile, “I guess that’s why I formed my little club…I was feeling quite lonesome _, I think_. In my own world of magical books rather than actual magic. I wanted to see if there are more people like me.”

“There are so your efforts aren’t in vain. Even _Sirius_ loved it, if you know him, and he’s… _well_ , certainly _not_ the type to sit around and read.” Remus says softly, “ _As for me_ …Couldn’t imagine spending my evenings otherwise, now. And I’m…” His mouth opens but then falls shut again, “If you need any help” He says while taking a breath, “just let me know. I don’t mind spending time here.” _With you_ , he wants to add but refrains. “ _Under locomotive sprouting violets_.”

You grin brilliantly, _“Under locomotive sprouting violets…”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i’m currently very into weird dialogues so if it shows i’m not sorry. actually, i wasn’t planning to updates this for a lil while but something happened and i was super inspired. so here it is
> 
> POEMS:   
> [1] the sky was by e.e. cummings

**Author's Note:**

> i promised to write a hp fic for every era...so here's one for the marauders! let me know what you think!!!  
> POEMS:   
> [1] bright by e.e. cummings  
> [2] where i lived and what i lived for by h.d. thoreau  
> [3] she walks in beauty by g. byron  
> [4] by rupi kaur from milk and honey


End file.
